


Tell me what you want

by Kinkerbell-made-me-do-it (TheMusicalCC)



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Femdom, I don't know, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, is accidentally kinky a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalCC/pseuds/Kinkerbell-made-me-do-it
Summary: It's important for married couples to experiment.





	Tell me what you want

**Author's Note:**

> Transfer from Tumblr. Wow, I think I wrote more porn than I'd thought back in the day.

They haven’t been doing this so long that they already master the art of undressing each other so when the urgency is too much to bear and his fingers clumsily try to undo the buttons of her dress while she curses and growls at the clippings of his armor that  _just_   _won’t come undone_ , they all but give up. His hand crawls over the fabric around the curve of her hip, the other one caressing her back under the curtains of black hair and La Muerte discards her hat with a quick movement and tugs him onto her, onto the bed, by the edge of his breastplate, kissing him like she’s drowning and he’s breathing into her, his name escaping her lips between every wet, hot contact of their lips.

Xibalba supports himself on the bed, pressing her down, one of his knees finding its way between her legs, nudging them open softly, his free hand fumbling with the fabric of her dress to move it out of his way- he grunts and stops and parts the kiss for a second to remove the leather glove with his teeth and- oh, the hand is back, now over her inner thigh, the slightest graze of his claw-like fingertips teasing her skin and promising to go higher.

She sits up, coaxing him onto his knees for a second, their mouths still in fierce lock against each other;   he takes the chance to tug at the ribbon that keeps her hair tied and, on mere impulse, she flips them in the middle of the kiss and straddles his hips from above, grinding lightly over his robes, and instead of his usual throaty groans, he lets out a sound that is almost a whimper against her mouth, wings twitching.

Surprise pauses her in the middle of her movements, wide eyes scanning his flushed, aroused face.  _Oh_. Something primal seems to coil inside of her at the sight. She rocks her hips against him again and he squirms, his hands flying to her hips over the pooling fabric, on an intent to press her closer, but she catches his wrists and holds them away from her, playfulness painted over her face as she settles her weight over him, so close and yet not enough.

“ _M-mi amor…_ ” Xibalba moves, trying to prolong the feeling, to control it.

“Shhhh…” she breathes, wordless beckon to give her a second as the heated, dizzy muddle that is her mind studies this…whatever it is, because right now all she knows about it is she likes it. His glove-less hand is brought to her lips and she presses a kiss to his fingers reverently. When his breath comes out as though he’s struggling to breathe it, the thought that one kiss alone is enough to do that to him makes an excitement that rattles her very bones run throughout her body, she has to close her eyes and breathe him in for a second “Shhh…” she says again, maybe to herself, as she brings the same hand to the side of her face, leaning to the touch with a soft sigh and he cradles it, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“I love you so much” he mutters and La Muerte’s stomach does a small back-flip. His tenderness always has a way of making her melt, but it feels…inadequate. As if right now she needed something besides that. Something she doesn’t yet know of, something her body seems to recognize even if her mind doesn’t.

So she rocks again, wet heat pooling under her bellybutton, between quivering thighs, and he squirms, biting down another moan that seems to rake through her, from her scalp to the tips of her toes. Wow. She bends, just a little, so she has a better view of him, and he’s grimacing the slightest, but not in pain. Eagerness. Want.  _Need_. Is the last one, most likely, that sends the blood pulsating hotly around her head. She lets out a breath and releases his wrists, dragging palms over his armor, but when he moves to grab her hips, she has to stop him again. There’s bemusement, but also ardency in his gaze as she leads the movement, driving herself over him, just enough for it to feel oh, so good and have him push the mattress in an attempt to increase it, but still not quite enough, making him release sounds she had no idea he could produce, as if it’s too much, too much, and he can’t string words together. She’s not sure whether she’s enjoying the contact or what the lack of thereof does to him- another rock of her hips tumbles what little remains in control in him down.

“Ah-!” he cries, struggling against her grasp just barely, even though he could free himself with ease if he wanted to, trying to bridge the gap between them. She allows him, lowering herself just barely, and he lets out a whine, so shivery and  _har_ _sh_ , that she bites her lower lip lightly “My love-  _please!_ ”

Oh, the last word and the tone it is pronounced in jolts her insides in a way that makes her want more, but by all means, this is the moment to stop teasing. She releases his wrists and instead of touching her, he licks his lips and lays his hands down on either side of his head- surrendering, giving her control.

“Tell me what you want” he mutters. She needs to stop and breath for a moment to make any sense, actual words within her head of what this hunger within her is saying, before leaning forward as if to kiss him (And he thinks that’s what she’s doing, because his mouth hangs open, expectant) breaths mingling. Her lips hanging mere inches from his.

“Don’t touch me until I tell you to” she says, relishing his air. Her hand fumbles between them to free him from his robe. When the air on his naked flesh makes him grunt and shiver, she laughs between her teeth, fingers closing around him, making his voice get stuck in his throat in…anticipation?  _I need you so bad_ , is painted all over his face, runes on his face glowing furiously, eyes dazed in either pleasure or expectation for it. He looks positively gorgeous like this and so she tells him, drinking it in, and his blush becomes even worse, as if the vulnerability of his expressions were something to be ashamed of, so she finally lets their lips crash for a heated kiss, before straightening, supporting herself on his breastplate, and lowering herself on his member, inch after inch, her voice breathy as she moans “Oh, Xibalba…”

He lets out a guttural curse, hands opening and closing as if on eagerness to grasp her, to guide her movement, but still obediently on the pillow, back arching, wings quivering. His hips convulse forward, into her and -oh,  _Dioses_ , she has to bit down her lips again to stop the high noise struggling to come out of her- she finally lets their hips slam together, if only to feel full of him, before retreating to a more comfortable depth. His gasps are more obvious this time as she starts to grind, slow at first, then faster, fingers clawing at the metal under them slightly, half-wishing they could have gotten undressed- although she can’t deny there is something maddening and exciting about this, about the sweat sticking her clothes to her skin and the cold metal to contrast the heat of her own extremities. Xibalba’s voice carries louder with each stroke in a way she’s never heard before, following her movements with eagerness. Between the muddle of sensations, she has time to wonder of she’s doing this because it’s easier to feel tenderness for him when he looks so desperate.

“G-guh!  _Mi amor_ \- ah!” she makes a rotating motion and he has to all but claw at the wooden headboard above him to keep his hands off her. It takes him a couple of tries and quivery, helpless breaths before he can string words together again “ _Muertita_ , I-I need…”

She could tell him to touch her now, she thinks. She could let him run his hands under her breasts and squeeze or bounce her over his hips like he pleases or turn them around and have his way with her. It’s not like she doesn’t enjoy that, how big his hands seem when he spreads her legs with them, the weight of his body pushing hers against the mattress in the eagerness to get closer.

But right now there’s  _this_ , and by all things on the Thirteen Realms, she’s loving it.

“Patience” she whispers instead, between gasps and grunts, hands tracing imaginary figures over his armored chest. He gulps and nods, taking deep breaths. When it becomes too much to him and he shifts beneath her to support himself on his feet and thrust up into her, she lets him lead the movement for a couple of minutes before relapsing, controlling depth and velocity and angle and drinking down the sounds and expressions he’s making, as if he’s enjoying not being in control much more than she thought he would. But there is something missing, and perhaps he feels the stutter in her movement, because he drowns out the noises and wets his mouth and whispers out, fervently.

“…tell me…tell me what you want…”

La Muerte still hesitates for a couple of seconds, lowering the pace, settling for circular, slow movements that make him set his jaw and claw at the pillow in an attempt to control himself. Her hips slam down on him,  _hard_ , and he growls, legs tensing -he’s so close, she can tell already, he’s  _so_  close, and without even touching her.

“ _Beg_ ” she breathes, as rocks them both harder, eliciting a throaty groan from him. His very wings are quivering and flapping erratically. The sensations must yet again be too much for him to bear because he stammers a bit, mumbling incoherently in his pleasure, before he’s actually able to say anything.

“Please, my love, please, I-  _ohh_! _”_ he has to cut himself because her body reacts to the words, clamping down on him, and he seizes the chance to recover control, pushing into her all the way to the hilt, heaving up and down with his pelvis “…I need to…touch you…ah, let me touch you…”

He’s all but arching up into her by now and now it’s her voice that carries through the bedroom with his name on it. If she still had half a mind to pay, she would be embarrassed, probably, but right now everything is the feeling of him pulsating within her, hot and hard and deep, and his voice, so needy, so raw, tingling her as she runs her hands over her hipbones, stomach, ribs, breasts, neck, taunting him. His fingers twitch as if in despair to take the place of hers

“…you’re so beautiful!” he sucks in the next breath with some effort and his pelvis stutters for a moment. The next words come between his teeth “Ohh,  _Dios_ _mio,_ _Muertita-_ ” he convulses, toeing the edge, but not quite there yet and his next words are a hot, hot muddle out of which she can only make out: “I’m so close- so close-  _p_ _lease!_ ”

Hmm, there it is, the same overwhelming hunger, but ten times as much as before. She bends forward, gasping out loud, lowering towards him, hands tracing the metallic ornaments over his chest. Her hair envelopes them and it’s like a barrier. Her words are quivery as if it’s her turn to plea, and they are only for him.

“Xibalba…touch me”

She needn’t say it twice. He props himself up and runs his hands over her chest, from her collarbone, over her breasts- sparing them a squeeze that makes her whine softly- and diverting to the sides, until he grasps at her hips above the dress and bounces her on his lap roughly. His mouth nibbles at the side of her neck, just below the angle of her jaw, eliciting delighted noises from her mouth as she grasps his shoulder plates, breasts pressing against his armor. His wings flap frantically, and his voice rattles in his throat with every thrust, until he is forced to stop for a second to brace himself, breathing the scent of her hair, body tense. She can feel his heart for a moment, as though ready to leap from his chest, even through the metal; then he hums, nuzzling her throat, his hands grazing her sides tenderly:

“Your wish is my command” his naked palm sneaks under the fabric of her skirt, running over the expanse under her navel, and then down, tips of his fingers circling in maddening shapes as he presses his mouth on her skin and sucks, before running his tongue up along the line of her neck, hot breath against goosebumps. Her mouth falls open in a moan, head thrown back, brow furrowing “Let me take care of you first”

It’s his turn to flip them; she falls on the mattress completely lost to the feeling of his body over hers and how he uses their new position to amplify his movements, bed squeaking, pelvis pushing hers rough and fast, fingers still teasing under her dress as he supports himself on one elbow. She can see his wings spreading above them, tensing and relaxing with each couple of thrusts. Her hands trail to his back, fingers digging into ectoplasm in a struggle to press him even closer, as if to merge him into her skin, into the song her blood is singing for him. Wet kisses trail the spiral markings of her neck as his free hand roams over her ribs and ends up surrounding her torso, claw-like fingers trailing her back above the fabric, making her squirm. It’s like he knows, even without her telling him. He knows and he wants it too. Her name rumbles in his throat and into her ears, like a prayer, and she feels like music under his hands, like the keys of a piano or the strings of a guitar, her body quivers with the tension nearing its release, pooling on every inch until even her scalp feels it. The rhythm of his strokes, both fingers and hips increases, until all she knows it’s a haze of pleasure that blurs everything around them. It doesn’t take long before a long cry leaves her lips, hips convulsing forward, tension of her limbs uncoiling into a violent, long shiver against his body before relaxing into his arms, her voice fading into a breathless vocal.

He rises his face to land a kiss over her half-open mouth and, weren’t she feeling so good, she would probably be annoyed by how smug he seems- then again, she thinks as he keeps pushing, lighting the remaining sparks of her climax as she gasps for breath, he well damn earned it. He moves back to look at her quivering, sweaty face, blush coloring her whites and hair sticking to her temples and neck. The adoration in his face is intoxicating and before she knows it, she’s grabbing his face and crashing their lips again. Soon enough he finishes as well, with a prolonged growl muffled into the crook of her neck, using one arm to grasp at her waist and bury himself roughly, as deep as he can, his armor ornaments diging into her skin the slightest.

His movements slow down and eventually die out into her embrace, so tender, as if to make up on her previous teasing, and they roll to their sides, drawing in content breaths.

“…well, that was…” he mutters between gasps, fingers still caressing her spine over the dress. He seems to be searching for the right word and it’s a little worrying when what he does settle for is: “…new”

“Bad new?” now that she’s coming down from her high, she’s anxious. She had never felt a desire like that before, and the possibility that what she wants is actual cruelty against him bites at her conscience relentlessly. And, yet again, it’s like he knows; he shifts to nuzzle her, arms surrounding her body, wings carefully folded back, and takes his bloody time to reply.

“Excellent new, to be frank”

She could laugh in relief, the remaining tension of her body melting. She could hug him, and kiss him silly and fall asleep with their limbs intertwined, but there is a lazy, insistent heat within her still and she won’t let it go unserviced, not when he’s so willing. Her hands search for his jaw to make him look at her again.

“Then get this dress off me” she hisses, her chest already heaving again “And we can have another round”

He looks rather taken aback at her tone at first, but the playful smile breaking in his lips the next instant tells her he adapts fast. She doesn’t pay mind at the sound of her dress being all but ripped from her or the metallic sound of his armor  _finally_  coming off, too eager to hear the sound of his voice again.

(And, really, it’s a little annoying the next morning when their heads are already cold and their bodies are finally at ease and they realize they could have morphed out of their clothes)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, they canonically have nine kids, so it's valid to imagine them going at it like rabbits, right?


End file.
